


Ada And Freddie

by LilyAngorian



Series: Ada and Freddie [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, First Kiss, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyAngorian/pseuds/LilyAngorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little moments from their past together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ada And Freddie

When she was six, with her wide eyes and plaited hair, and her stubborn insistence that he and Tommy must include her in their games, Freddie was nine. Too young to notice the way she would watch him go when he and Tommy tried to stop her pestering them, laughing wildly into the wind as they ran through the streets until they no longer heard her determined footfalls behind them. When she was seven, with her grubby hands scraping chalk onto the road so she could play Hopscotch with the other girls, wistfully glancing at the play-fights and excited shouts of the boys across the street, he was ten. When she was eight, sitting on the side of the pavement so her dress was always filthy, having decided that the other girls were boring and stupid, and watching him and Tommy playing soldiers, he was eleven. Freddie would see her sat there, after school every day, biting her nails, twisting her hair around her fingers, just watching. When Tommy had to go inside, she would trail in after him, having avoided being sent to bed earlier by quietly allowing Tommy to always be the centre of attention. When she got to the door, just before she closed it, sometimes she would look back and watch for a moment as Freddie picked up his bag and wandered home. And when she was nine, and she had her hair cut short and would no longer take no for an answer, striding across No man's land towards them and daring to smile when Freddie caught her eye, he was twelve. It was then, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut, that he knew there was no going back.

That first night back in Birmingham, when the streets seemed darker somehow, and the distant sound of a startled horse drew his hand instinctively to his gun, Freddie was no longer a boy. Scarred flesh, deep trenches across his forehead. Bones weary, aching. Roughly shaven cheeks sunken and sallow. He pressed his head to Tommy's shoulder, arm across his back, drawing them close. He heard Tommy murmur thanks into his ear, and then pull away, turning towards his front door as it opened and his family rushed out. Freddie stood back, almost in shadow, and watched as Tommy flinched a little at their touch, masking it quickly with a well practised smile as he crossed the threshold once more. As Freddie drew his eyes away, he caught someone watching him, stepping from the open doorway and walking quietly towards him. "You came back then." Short dark hair, wide eyes, and a gentle hand, first on his arm and then the side of his face. A kiss, so light and fleeting it could have been the breeze. Then retreating footsteps. A glance back at him as the door swung shut, and he turned to make his way home. 

A few months later, when Tommy had caught Ada slipping in through a open window at well past midnight, her cheeks flushed and her skirt slightly torn it had been easier to say nothing than to tell the truth. Tommy's mood was much changed, no brotherly embraces with his old friend since that first night back, and nothing but bitterness in his voice as he berated her for her silence and her disregard for his authority. She had lain in bed, fingers stroking her lips absent-mindedly, basking in the memory of Freddie's skin against hers and the way his light kisses felt etched onto her, so she could almost pick out the tender line that they formed from her neck to her thighs. Freddie was by then fast asleep in his own bed, subconscious mind weighted with the lingering traces of their encounter. The cold stone of the alley on the palm of his right hand as he had leaned towards her, each of her touches still unfamiliar, her scent mingling with that of the cold evening breeze. Her laughter, soft and teasing as clothes tried to delay them, to distract them. Later, her hands entwined in his hair, rubbing against his scalp as she twisted her fingers for a better grip and pulled his head into the crook of her neck. No going back.


End file.
